


Birds Of A Feather

by Caillieach, MeinNameIstJette



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Don’t copy to another site, Gen, Luche has emotions, M/M, Nyx will not put up with his shit, Slow Burn, What Even Are Emotions?, although he likes to pretend he doesn't, annoying singing neighbours at what the fuck o'clock are forever annoying, coming home after a long as undercover mission, infiltrating Niflheim ain't easy, injuries, mentions of disturbing science (no details....yet), running for your life isn't either, the Glaives need mental health training, the lack of sleep is serious, will add tags as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 02:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20631587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caillieach/pseuds/Caillieach, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeinNameIstJette/pseuds/MeinNameIstJette
Summary: To go "undercover" means to avoid detection by the entity one is observing, and especially to disguise one's own identity or use an assumed identity for the purposes of gaining the trust of an individual or organization to learn or confirm confidential information or to gain the trust of targeted individuals in order to gather information or evidence.Constantly walking a fine like like this for extended periods of time is bound to result in mental health issues.Luche gets back after a long undercover assignment. He doesn't handle it well. Nyx doesn't take any of his bullshit.





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners, here: Square Enix. Any possible future original characters & plots are my own. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended. I do not earn money with this.  


**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Luche wants to do is sleep...

* * *

_Cause out here in the darkness_  
_And out of the night_  
_If you get to me too late_  
_Just know that I tried_

* * *

Luche's hand trembles minutely, making the keys jingle quietly against the door.

A soft expletive escapes him under his breath. It takes him embarrassingly long to insert the right key into the lock to let himself into his flat, two floors above the street which is still teeming with life despite the late hour.

Reporting back to Drautos had taken him longer than he had hoped but really, he should have expected it considering the delicate nature of his work. His mission had taken over seven months to complete after all and Drautos isn't known for being lenient when it comes to receiving important reports.

He's growing impatient with himself and his inability to keep his hands steady when the lock _ finally _ clicks audibly and the door swings open.

The narrow corridor leading to his living room is dark and he can see tiny dust particles dancing in the air in what little light spills in from the street behind him. Silence greets him. He closes the door, cutting the sounds of street vendors praising their wares and the humming murmur of patrons frequenting the many tiny eateries of Little Galahd off, and he sags against it for a moment, the exhaustion which has dogged his every step for the last couple of weeks finally catching up with him. The silence is blissful and oppressive at once but he can’t find it in him to care right now.

He’s used to it anyway, although on bad days he can almost hear his grandmother calling out a gentle welcome when the ghosts of his past are particularly loud. Most days he doesn't know which is better.

Luche closes his eyes for a moment and pushes away from the door, leaving his boots discarded in the middle of the hallway and tiredly shrugging out of his filthy, too warm clothes. They were made for Niflheim’s climate, not Insomnia’s, and he is more than relieved to get them off his skin on his way to the tiny bathroom where he carelessly drops them into the hamper. He misses the thing by half but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He’ll take care of it in the morning, after some much needed sleep.

He sighs.

It’s really all he wants. Just a few hours of uninterrupted sleep in his own bed, safe from startling awake with a pounding heart in the middle of the freezing night because an unfamiliar noise tickles his senses, screaming possible danger at him. He can’t remember the last time he got some truly restful sleep. It’s been too long.

It doesn't take long for the steam from his shower to fill the stale air and heat the previously cool room to a much more comfortable temperature. The hot water feels good on his skin and is a much needed relief on his aching muscles. The warmth does wonders to relax his tense shoulders and he crumbles, gives in to the sweet call of letting go. He doesn’t have a reason to keep his guard up at all times anymore. Not here and not now, when he’s finally back home and no one can see him.

He can’t suppress a dry snort; it is highly unlikely that Nif soldiers or, Ramuh forbid, MT’s would crash in here as they were often wont to do in the icy tundra of Niflheim and later in Gralea where inspections were an almost daily occurrence. He banishes the thought and supports himself on the wall instead, enjoying the warm water pouring down on him, trickling down his back and relieving the tension he didn’t even notice anymore after being on high alert for months.

His arms begin to shake against the cold tiles, the muscles demanding rest and he sighs. He does not want to leave the shower, the warmth is too good to give up again. But the thought of passing out in his own bed has an even stronger appeal and so he shuts the water off and steps onto the chilly ceramic tiles, reaching for one of his fluffy towels, the single luxury he’s allowed himself when he moved in, to towel off quickly.

He’s halfway through his bedroom and in the process of pulling his pyjama over his head when a very loud, obviously male and very offkey voice somewhere close by - too close for comfort - makes him almost jump out of his skin. His heart is racing in his chest, a direct result of the voice disrupting the blissful silence none-too-gently. He listens for a moment, trying to regulate his erratic breathing and locate where the voice is coming from...and. 

_ Are those song lyrics? _

Concentrating on it does nothing to make it sound better, he thinks. Whoever it is belting those lyrics out enthusiastically at what the fuck o'clock, he really can’t hold a tone to save his life.

It does sound very nearby and, circling his room, he eventually stops before the wall separating his flat from the next. He closes his eyes in annoyance. Seems like he’s acquired a new neighbour while he was gone. He distantly remembers that the flat had been available for rent when he left since the previous tenant had been old and had moved in with his daughter's family recently.

His new neighbour doesn’t seem to plan on stopping anytime soon and indecision wars within him for what feels like a long moment but is really just a minute at most. He has half a mind to go over, introduce himself and ask the singer to please stop and have they seen the time?

But his legs feel heavy and uncooperative and his mind feels sluggish with exhaustion and so he decides to just curl up in bed and hope for the unwanted concert to stop soon so he can pass out. Almost stumbling over his own feet, he flops down on his bed and makes haste to burrow himself into the slightly musty blankets. He’s been gone for almost 7 months and while Insomnia isn’t cold – not like godsforsaken Niflheim is – it is late autumn and the heating hasn't been on in his flat for a while and he craves more warmth after months in that icy hell.

*******

An eternity of tossing and turning around later and trying to drown either the cheerful voice out or smother himself under his pillow (he doesn’t care which comes first at this point), he gives up.

If people’s moods could take shape, he is sure his would be a dark thundercloud hovering ominously over his head, warning everyone to back off at the risk of being stabbed.

He’s dead tired, his body is letting him know exactly what it thinks of crawling all over and through Niflheim’s eternal winter for weeks on end and then fleeing for his life back to Insomnia, all while keeping the gathered Intel and the few pieces of evidence he's managed to take with him close to his chest. His head feels as if it’s filled with cotton, unable to form a clear thought.

_ And that dreadful voice just won’t shut up and let him sleep. _

Grumbling and at the end of his rope, he drags his uncooperating body out of bed to give his neighbour a piece of his mind.

Clad only in his pyjama with a zip up hoodie and his worn boots thrown on for good measure against the Glacian's stubborn chill still clinging to his bones, he squints at the nameplate by the doorbell but the scrawl is practically illegible.

It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need a name to read his neighbour the riot act.

He presses the doorbell and keeps his thumb on it for a second longer than is strictly necessary. But he’s tired and cold due to the lack of sleep, his patience has run out and he's lost his good manners somewhere between Ghorovas Rift and Gralea so he doesn't really care. The doorbell shrills through the night and the singing _ finally _ stops. 

Suspiciously bouncy sounding steps grow closer behind the door and Luche straightens up, preparing to establish his authority right away like the Lieutenant he is. Acutely aware of the scowl fixed on his features, he tries his best to school them into a semblance of a pleasant expression but without much success. As irritated as he is, he knows that maybe he shouldn’t just barge in and start complaining the moment the door opens since he’s never even met the man.

That thought goes right out the window when the door does open and a very familiar face immediately lights up like a Christmas tree at the sight of him. Luche on the other hand is very unamused. 

“You have got to be kidding me."

The scowl is back with a vengeance but he really can’t help it. His earlier reservations about not barreling the other straight over clearly don’t apply here anymore. Suddenly, the illegible scrawl on the nameplate makes sense. He's seen it on half-assed reports at work every other week for years, he really should have recognised it since those reports give him a headache more often than not on a distressingly regular basis.

Nyx is beaming at him, completely nonplussed about the dark look he receives in return and very unbothered by the fact that he isn't wearing a shirt and his hands drip what looks eerily like dish water all over the floor. 

“Luche! I didn’t know you were back!”

Nyx makes to grab for him and he’s too slow to dodge, his body slowly shutting down against his will, sluggish with the lack of energy. Suddenly, there's a damp arm around his shoulders and he’s manhandled into the other Galahdian’s flat before he can get a word in to protest the treatment.

“Come in, come in. Don’t mind the mess, I’ve only just moved in a few weeks ago! Do you want some tea? I’ll make you some tea. Here, sit down.”

Nyx is talking a mile a minute, his face shining in what seems to be genuine pleasure at seeing him.

Huh. That’s a novel feeling and quite unexpected.

But it’s also nice so he doesn’t dwell on it too long. He’s plopped down onto a chair at the kitchen counter before his brain can decipher the stream of words that left Nyx’s mouth and by the time he makes sense of them, the other man is already puttering around his tiny kitchen. His brain finally catches on when Nyx fills the tea kettle.

“Nyx, wait! I don’t need…” He doesn’t get to complete his sentence. Putting the kettle on, Nyx turns around to rummage through one of his drawers and a tiny part of Luche cringes at the mess he’s creating while he’s at it.

“I have this…where did I put it?" 

"Nyx." He tries again to get the other's attention.

"I had this really good tea recommended to me by Elshett. You’ll like it, I promise. Ah! There it is!”

Luche huffs. The other man clearly isn't listening to him. Exasperated and very much too tired to deal with this, he drops his face into his hands and blocks the other man's chatter out. His head hurts and his eyes burn, a constant reminder that he should really be sleeping right now and he really doesn’t have the patience to deal with Nyx’s antics.

A warm hand settles on his shoulder and startles him out of his sleep-addled thoughts what feels like only a few seconds later. He is greeted with a warm smile and a hot cup of fragrant, steaming tea is set down in front of him which has him lifting his aching head from his hands. He hadn't even heard the kettle whistle.

"Here, drink this. You'll feel better, I promise. No offense but you look like shit, Luche." 

Luche mutters a tired "Fuck you, Nyx." in response but there's no real heat behind it and they both know it.

It's more on instinct than anything else and he knows the other man is right. He didn't pay much attention in his bathroom earlier but the face looking back at him in the mirror had looked pale and drawn and the dark circles beneath his eyes had looked almost purple. He cradles the mug in his hands and basks in the warmth seeping into his skin.

"Do you mind if I continue doing the dishes? If I don't do them now I'll probably forget about it in the morning and it will be a pain to do them after work tomorrow, then. No? Great. Hey, how did your assignment go?"

Nyx looks at him over his shoulder even as his hands are busy scrubbing a plate clean.

Luche manages a non-committal "Fine. Can't really take about it, it's classified." and takes a sip of his tea in lieu of saying more.

That's the understatement of the century.

He's surprised to discover that Nyx was right. The tea really _ is _ good. He can feel it warming his insides, creating a pool of gentle warmth in his belly.

"Right, okay. I'll just ask the Captain, he usually caves in if I needle him enough. Or, well, he kicks my ass in training for annoying him but it still works more often than not."

Nyx laughs at his own words but he knows he's right. Drautos does have an obvious weakness for his Galahdian protégé but the times of Luche being secretly jealous over their bond are long gone since he's carved his own place out in the Glaive.

The quiet background noise of Nyx doing the dishes is strangely soothing and just monotone enough that it amplifies the sleepiness tugging at his mind. It is easy to just not think about anything in particular, being lulled to sleep like this, warm and safe.

"Well, you missed quite a lot while you were gone! Did you know that Axis is a menace on chocobo back? I didn't and there was this fair about three weeks ago offering chocobo races and I bet against Tredd and the fucker ripped me off because he totally knew! Oh and Pelna somehow befriended the Prince's best friend...what's his name...the little blond guy, you know? They bonded over photography of all things and…"

Nyx’s voice was fading to a comforting background murmur, his words blurring together and Luche struggled to keep his eyes open. His head feels too heavy for his neck to hold up any longer and giving in, he lays it down on his arms. He just wants to rest his eyes for a bit. Nyx is right there. He’s safe here, so it should be alright.

Just for a minute...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This all started when the wonderful [Septembre_Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zyrielle/pseuds/Septembre_Rain) came up with the idea of Nyx singing at the top of his lungs while doing the dishes in his tiny apartment, inspired by his model's recent IG stories of doing exactly that. Thank you and [TinyHannah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyHannah/pseuds/TinyHannah) for giving me this idea and letting me scream and whine about it to you! You guys are the best!
> 
> It spiralled out of control when we thought he needed a very exasperated neighbour and finally settled on Luche <strike>because it is so much fun to torment the poor man</strike>.
> 
> I've been toying with the idea of an Undercover AU starring Luche for a while now and somehow, _under the shower of all things_, my brain decided to spit out the words to this and the whole crack idea landed in a much more serious AU. 
> 
> There will be more chapters to this. I'm currently rp'ing what happens after Chapter 4 with the incredible [MeinNameIstJette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeinNameIstJette/pseuds/MeinNameIstJette) who beta'ed this monster for me, keeps inspiring me in all the best ways and who's also the _best_ Nyx. ❤
> 
> Stay tuned for more of our two idiots trying to navigate <strike>their emotions</strike> troubled waters.
> 
> * * *
> 
> The lyrics are from [Tommee Profitt's _'Far From Home'_.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nTPyumOw1YY)


	2. 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nyx finds himself with an armful of Luche.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is beta'ed by the wonderful [MeinNameIstJette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeinNameIstJette/pseuds/MeinNameIstJette)! Thank you! ❤

* * *

_Lean on me, when you're not strong_  
_And I'll be your friend_  
_I'll help you carry on_  
_For it won't be long_  
_'Til I'm gonna need_  
_Somebody to lean on_

* * *

The lack of response registers with Nyx when he's nearly done with the dishes and has given Luche an almost complete rundown of the last few months’ events to catch him up on what their little gang has been up to. He expects at least a dry comment or a snort or anything of the sort for the story of how Libertus and Crowe were mistaken for husband and wife by that new vendor down the street.

Only there's no laughter accompanying his own. 

Luche is slumped half over the table with his face burrowed in his arms when Nyx turns around to him, an expectant grin on his lips.

Oh.

The smile vanishes and guilt rushes in rapidly as he takes the pallor of the bond's skin and the bruised circles under his eyes in. The thought that the other man had been exhausted and just wanted to sleep hadn't even occurred to him, drowned out by the relief of seeing him standing in front of his door, seemingly alright and in one piece and Nyx abruptly feels like the biggest asshole this side of Lestallum. 

Of course Luche would want to sleep. He’s just come back from one hell of a mission judging by how exhausted he looks, not to mention the length of said mission and it being classified. He doesn’t know where the blond has been although he could haphazard a guess but it certainly hasn’t been a breeze. The realisation does beg the question of what Luche wanted from him in the first place though. He will have to ask him when he wakes up in the morning.

Giving in to the urge to wave his hand in front of the other Galahdian’s face briefly to check if he's truly asleep, he does just that. Luche’s breathing doesn’t even so much as falter for a second and he doesn’t budge either. Nyx feels his face go soft with affection for the older man.

Luche may not be the easiest person to be around sometimes and it didn’t help that he had been a real nightmare to befriend. The blond is a piece of work, often snappish, a little arrogant and about as cuddly as a cactuar and as lethal as one too. However, beneath his prickly demeanour he's loyal, trustworthy and dependable and sometimes surprisingly witty. A quietly supportive guy struggling with admitting when he needs help and he has grown on Nyx over the years they’ve served side by side.

He carefully takes Luche’s half-empty mug out of the hand still loosely curled around it and pours the cold tea into the kitchen sink before he turns back to his guest.

Luche’s breathing is even and his face looks relaxed and very young in his sleep and Nyx is loathe to wake him up again but he can’t just let him sleep at the kitchen table. Luche’s back would kill him in the morning.

Running his hands through his hair in indecision, he contemplates how to get the blond into his bedroom. He could just wake him up and send him on his way but. No. The other man seemed barely coherent now that he thinks about it and he would feel better if he was there to keep an eye on him. If Luche is anything like himself, he’ll be out like a light for at least 10 hours, if not more and if he had to guess, having someone he feels at least comfortable with nearby will help him sleep better. Hopefully.

His mind made up, he approaches the other Glaive and lays a careful hand on his shoulder.

“Luche. Hey. Wake up for a minute? Luche?”

The blond makes an adorable little snuffling sound (Nyx will deny that thought until his death) and a tired, hooded eye cracks open a bit, revealing a sliver of steel blue blinking warily up at him. Nyx's chest feels strangely tight at the realisation that Luche didn’t startle awake and didn’t go on the defensive immediately which, given their profession and sharply honed instincts, was a definite possibility. It means he trusts Nyx enough to keep him safe, enough for him to let his guard down around him and Nyx?

Nyx doesn’t know what to do with that realisation. So he simply smiles reassuringly at him.

“Come on. Up with you. You can’t sleep at the table and I’m not letting you out of my sight like this.”

He tries to keep his voice quiet and as non-threatening as possible, just in case. Luche grumbles a little under his breath but Nyx can see a tiny spark of comprehension in the eye not still buried in his arms, so he continues. 

“Hey, you gotta help me out a bit, okay, buddy? You’re too heavy and my apartment too cramped to carry you to bed so I need you to work with me, alright?”

A groan is his answer but the other man visibly tries to muster what little of his energy remains to stand up. It’s obviously not enough. He makes it upright but he sways on his feet, the fatigue almost palpable around him now that he’s had time to relax.

“Here, I’ve got you.” he says and swoops in, curling his left arm around Luche’s waist and hoisting him up. The blond flinches a bit at the contact with what feels like...bandages under Nyx’s hand.

He’s injured?

Nyx frowns but simply shifts his hand a little higher, foregoing any questions for now knowing he wouldn’t receive an answer to them anyway. 

By the time they have made it halfway through his living room, Nyx is supporting most of Luche’s weight and the blond is barely dragging his feet along anymore, draped half over him as he is, his head lying heavily in the crook of his neck. He can’t even be mad at him, really. He’s acutely aware of the other man’s exhaustion now and honestly, he just wants him to rest. If that means he’ll have to carry him to bed, he will.

Nyx stops and adjusts his grip around the other’s waist before he continues. He tries to stay quiet and not wake the blond up again who’s now softly snoring into his neck, he really tries, but despite his best efforts he uses too much force and the door to his bedroom swings open and slams into the wall with an audible thump. Nyx cringes and prays that Luche doesn’t startle awake in a fit of panic at that. Luckily, he does not. He doesn’t so much as budge, actually, and Nyx breathes a sigh of relief.

For the last few metres, Nyx does in fact pick the sleeping blond up and carefully deposits him on his bed, Luche's forehead propped against his chest to make slipping his zip up hoodie off easier. He throws it aside and eases Luche onto the mattress before he tugs his boots off as well to make him as comfortable as possible. He does feel a little weird as he tucks the other man in, making sure he's bundled up nicely since he seemed to be cold earlier, but he ignores the feeling. He's taking care of an exhausted comrade, a friend. There's nothing weird about it even though it is odd to see the usually so collected man so _ vulnerable_. But Luche would do the same for him, Nyx thinks.

Probably.

When he's done, only Luche's dirty blond hair - in stark contrast to his black sheets - and the top of his face are visible and he watches with a tiny smile how the other man curls up in his sleep, tugging the blankets even closer around himself. He looks irritatingly small like this and the dark sheets put his pallor into stark contrast but he's satisfied with the knowledge that he's done everything in his power to make the blond comfortable. He can rest now.

As a last thought, he leaves a glass of water on the nightstand and gets ready for bed himself. He doesn't exactly look forward to sleeping on the couch, not really, it's an old, ratty thing and not exactly comfortable but he doesn't mind. He has to get up early for the morning shift anyway so it doesn't really matter and Luche needs his sleep more than he does.

Not for the first time, he's wondering what kind of mission the Captain really sent Luche on. The bit about '_ doing recon around Lucis and establishing contact with the hunter community _' was bullshit if he ever heard some.

It must have been one of the highest rank to send his Lieutenant rather than another Glaive who's specialised in infiltration too but less wrapped up in running the Glaive. Very sensitive information had to have been involved. From what little information he has, he wouldn't be surprised if the orders came from Lord Amicitia or the King himself. Well. Nyx is a Glaive Lieutenant himself and he does have a way of getting Drautos to talk. He'll try his luck in the morning and find out what this was all about.


	3. 3.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luche's memories catch up with him.
> 
> * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is beta'ed by the wonderful [MeinNameIstJette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeinNameIstJette/pseuds/MeinNameIstJette)! Thank you! ❤

* * *

_Still in a daze, head in a haze, somebody please put me back to sleep_  
_Put me back to sleep, yeah_  
_I'm slipping away, starting to fade, _ _circling the drain_

* * *

**_His breathing is echoing uncomfortably loud in the long, dimly lit hallways and his heartbeat is thudding thunderously in his ears, almost drowning every other sound out. The panic sits at the edge of his mind, waiting to ambush him and he knows he can't afford it. Not right now. Panicking now means he's dead. He needs to concentrate, calm his erratic breathing down, get back into the right mindset and do his damn job. Every detail is important. Every sound is an indicator for how close his pursuers are. He needs to keep his senses sharp if he wants to survive this. He can't fuck this up. _ **

** _ The telltale sound of an MT squadron coming from the connecting hallway makes him freeze and his heart jumps into his throat. He ducks into a shallow alcove, holding his breath, pressed into the cold stone in his back. He prays they won't come his way. There's no way they wouldn't spot him, not in these cursed hallways devoid of real cover. He would have no choice but to engage and that. That wouldn't end well for him. He’s good, lethal, one of the best even but he can’t take down an entire squadron on his own and he knows it. _ **

** _ The documents and flash drive he's stolen from the Chancellor's office feel hot, as if they were burning where he has stashed them away against his ribs, inside his jacket. He clenches his hands and takes a calculated, forcefully slow breath lest he give himself away. _ **

** _ The MTs heavy steps are growing louder. _ **

** _ Cold sweat trickles down his back and makes him shiver. He estimates they have almost reached the corner now. Clenching his eyes shut, he sends a fervent prayer to Ramuh to hold a protecting hand over him. If they round the corner in his direction, his time is up. He's too deep in the Keep's bowels, too high up. He has no way out, not with the MTs blocking his escape route. _ **

** _ The clanking from their armour is the only sound he can hear now and it's dangerously close. He's sweating profusely despite the chilly air, the sweat burning in his eyes. He doesn't dare to so much as blink, his guts twisted into a tight knot of anxiety. _ **

** _ He breathes in. _ **

** _ The MTs stop. _ **

** _ He freezes and the muscles in his calves tense up, prepared to make a mad dash for...he doesn't know. _ **

** _ There's no way out. _ **

** _ He doesn't dare to breathe. The silence rings heavy in his ears until...the steps continue, growing closer still. _ **

** _ Cursing his rotten luck, he presses the heavy envelope against his chest and grips his kukri tightly with one hand. This is it. _ **

** _ This might be the day he dies. _ **

** _ Taking one last breath in, he jumps out of hiding and falls into the familiar motions of fighting for his life, aiming for the weakest spot near the neck of the MT closest to him. His vision narrows down to the glowing red eyes on him and he loses himself in a flurry of slash and parry, slash and parry. For a very short moment, he thinks that Ramuh has mercy and he might actually live to see another day as another MT crumbles under his blade... _ **

** _ It is short lived. _ **

** _ Noise erupts in the hallway and pain blossoms in his side a second later, the impact pushing him a step back. He curses. _ **

** _ Snipers. _ **

** _ The red dot over his heart alerts him just in time to avoid getting shot. Again. He narrowly manages to duck under a wickedly sharp sword aiming for his head and decides to fuck it. It's time to retreat and cut his losses. If that is even possible. There is only one way open to him and it's back the way he came. _ **

** _ He runs. His lungs are burning and his gasping breath echoes loudly in his ears. The strain of his muscles pulling and tightening hurts, they are begging for a reprieve, but he can't. The MTs are hot on his heels. He would warp if he could but his magic reserves are exhausted from warping his way up the wall on his way in and he has no time to pull an ether out of the Armiger. If he stops now, he's dead. _ **

** _ Up ahead, he spots one of the few large windows Zegnautus Keep has on its upper floors. It's suicide but he would rather die than fall into the Empire's hands. He knows what's happening inside their secret labs now and he’d rather not...using the last of his strength, he bursts through the window in a shower of sharp, sparkling glass and bullets whizzing past his ears… _ **

** _ ...and he falls. _ **

*******

Gasping for breath, Luche shoots upright and clutches his side where he's been shot.

Phantom pain is radiating from the entry point and it takes him a very long moment to realise that the fabric under his hand is soft and dry. Definitely not the coarse, bloodsoaked fabric of his uniform he’s felt just a moment before. 

He needs to focus. He takes slow, conscious breaths and slowly, _ too slowly _, he can feel the panic ebbing away. His surroundings grow less blurry the more he gets himself under control. It is dark and he can't make out more than shapes. His heart lurches in his chest. The room he's in is utterly, disquietingly unfamiliar. 

His own still too fast breathing is the only sound he can hear. 

He's alone.

For what feels like a small eternity, he sits in bed as silent as a stone, straining his ears to pick up _ any _ sound which could tell him where he is. He _ thinks _ he made it back to Insomnia, gave his report to the Captain and then went to tear his neighbour’s head off who turned out to be Nyx, but. 

His memory cuts off there and he isn't sure if that actually happened or was just a very vivid, weird dream. Maybe he just passed out from exhaustion. Maybe he somehow survived the fall and this is a strange form of psychological torture the Empire has come up with to break him. 

He feels cold.

The darkness around him feels oppressive and Luche feels very small and insignificant. There's no sound to confirm or deny his fears and he can feel the anxiety creeping back in. Scrambling for the vaguely lamp-shaped blob on the nightstand provides a small amount of relief upon the dim, soft light illuminating the immediate area around the bed but it's leaving the rest of the room shrouded in darkness and while this _ looks _ like a normal, ordinary bedroom, it could still be a very elaborate setup. He's seen the Empire's labs, he's read the reports, he _ knows _ what they're doing to their prisoners.

Especially those who move against the Empire and he's stolen the most sensitive information he could imagine... 

His throat clicks dryly when he swallows. There's a glass of water next to the lamp, looking innocuous with the light glinting on its surface and he craves its cool relief but...It could be anything _ but _ water. Sweet Shiva, but he's too tired for the mind games. If he really has been caught, he'd rather die of poison or at least speed things up than wait for whatever those scientists have in store for him. Decision made, he grabs the glass and takes a hearty sip…

...and is relieved to taste only sweet, refreshing water trickling down his parched throat. The adrenaline leaves his body in a rush and, not caring of who might be watching, he sinks back into the sheets, setting the glass heavily back onto the nightstand on his way down. 

For all his bravado, he really didn't want to die already. 

A waft of a strangely familiar scent tickles his nose, coming from the sheets, distracting him and Luche's mind blanks.

It is warm, woody and spicy, reminding him of freshly ground black pepper and there's a hint of leather teasing his senses...and he knows the scent. He does. 

_ But from where? _

He is surprised by the way his body relaxes into the still warm sheets without him doing anything. How can he feel safe and comfortable in a situation like this? It doesn't make sense…

Until it suddenly, glaringly does. 

Luche groans as the realisation hits him and he feels embarrassed and stupid at the same time. 

It's Nyx. 

The sheets smell like Nyx. 

Abruptly his mind goes back to what he thought was a dream earlier but must have been what really happened. 

Ramuh's hairy balls, he's an idiot. 

Annoyed with his uncooperative brain and incredibly relieved to not be trapped in the Empire's hands, he buries his face into the pillow and sucks in deep gulps of air, relishing in the warm, overwhelming safety the scent makes him feel. 

The images from those horrible reports linger in the back of his mind but he still feels his body grow heavy again and doesn't fight his drooping eyes any longer. 

He's safe. It's okay to go back to sleep. 

So he does.


	4. 4.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of unexpected surprises and Moogles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is beta'ed by the wonderful [MeinNameIstJette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeinNameIstJette/pseuds/MeinNameIstJette) who also wrote Nyx in this chapter! Thank you! ❤

* * *

_You won't ever have to worry,_  
_You won't ever have to hide_  
_And you seen all my mistakes_  
_So look me in my eyes_

_'Cause if you let me, here's what I'll do_  
_I'll take care of you_

* * *

The next time he wakes up, soft sunlight is filtering in through the stained windows and if he concentrates enough, he can hear the murmur of voices on the street two floors below. They are familiar sounds, ones he's woken up to for years, and they reassure him enough to sink back into the warm sheets, content to just relax and enjoy the lingering warmth and the delicious feeling of waking up from a long, restful sleep.

The overpowering fear from last night feels dull and silly in the late mid-morning sunlight and Luche rolls over to burrow back into the pillows, wincing only a little at how the motion tugs at his barely healed wound and halfheartedly scolding himself within the confines of his own mind for his overreaction. It was just a nightmare after all even though his sleep-addled brain hadn't recognized it as such.

His body still feels a little tired and heavy and he's utterly unwilling to leave the nest he's built around himself in the night, so he just sprawls out and keeps dozing, happy to not think of anything in particular for a while and ignoring the fact that he should probably check in with Drautos again. 

He has never ignored his duty before but he’s already told him everything he needed to know and ignoring his responsibilities feels strangely freeing. It is his rumbling stomach that eventually convinces him to leave the bed and with a soft groan, he heaves himself up and goes in search of food.

"Nyx?"

The apartment is silent and empty when he emerges into the living room. The couch looks rumpled with a blanket slipped half onto the ground and he stops short. 

Did Nyx sleep there last night? 

He has noticed the lack of his zip up hoodie and boots and this latest sign of Nyx taking care of him. He doesn't know what to think about it and he stands in the doorway for a moment, caught in his conflicting feelings. His grumbling stomach startles him out of his head, and he heads to the open plan kitchen nestled in the opposite corner of the room, preferring to keep busy instead of dealing with his emotions.

He hesitates in front of the fridge. Is it okay for him to raid the other Glaive's provisions like this? Or would Nyx be mad? He could just go back to his own flat but he’d have to go grocery shopping for breakfast first since his fridge is as empty as he left it seven months ago. In the end, his stomach makes the decision for him.

Decisively, he pulls the fridge open. And blue screens.

There’s a plate of cheese sandwiches sitting in front of him and a bowl of what looks like fruit salad. And against it leans a note with his name on it.

** _‘Dig in!’_ ** it says.

What in the world…?

He thought he knew Nyx. Understood the other man. 

Evidently, he didn’t because never would he have imagined this. Whatever _ this _ was. Unable to make heads or tails of the situation as a whole, he shrugs and settles down with his breakfast - which is surprisingly good given that Nyx once managed to set his bread rolls on fire in the microwave back at Glaive HQ’s communal kitchen. 

He digs in and enjoys another cup of the delicious tea which Nyx had set out on the counter for him and the realisation that he’s really, truly home and safe hits him out of nowhere.

Sweet Shiva, but he had really thought he would breathe his last in Niflheim.

A little shaken, he commandeers Nyx’s bathroom after putting the used plate and utensils away and takes a quick shower to wash the cold sweat from last night's nightmare off his skin and to keep busy. And if his nerves result in a tear or two from sheer relief of being alive, they get washed away under the torrent of hot water and he pretends that it never happened.

He briefly considers going back to his own flat but if he’s honest, he doesn’t really want to. There’s nothing waiting for him and his nerves are still a little jittery and he's been on his own without friendly contact for _ weeks._

He feels like butter spread over too much bread, stretched thin and Nyx’s obvious presence here in his apartment despite him not really being here feels oddly soothing. 

In the end, he appropriates a pair of worn but soft sweatpants and a warm pullover with the dubious statement of ‘Moogles do it better!’ on it and makes himself comfortable on the couch with a book on Eos’ astrology he found lying atop one of the as of yet unpacked removal crates. It is a poor attempt to stop pondering what is going to happen now with the information he's brought back but before long, he gets sucked into it and his mind shuts up for the first time in way too long.

*******

Sweaty and tired from getting his ass handed to him by Drautos on the training grounds and a bag of takeout from his favourite Galahdian restaurant three streets over in his hands, Nyx stops short in the entryway, one boot toed half off, and double-takes at the view of Luche hopelessly entangled in his blanket and with his hair sticking every which way. The man was wearing that blasted shirt Crowe got him for his birthday last year and he wonders how he had found it. 

He hesitates for just a moment, then pulls his phone out and snaps a picture. 

There is no way he could pass an opportunity like this up. Luche always appears so collected and cool. It would serve as a nice memento of this strange interaction...or as blackmail. Well, probably blackmail. He’d see how much of an ass Luche is being before he’ll bring it up.

Although another part of Nyx understands the need for privacy and a place to feel safe...and he doesn’t want to ruin whatever it is he has with Luche. Trying to form a friendship with the man was like trying to hug a cactuar - not very advisable and definitely near impossible - he counts himself lucky for having been able to push so far.

He slips his phone back into his back pocket, sets his training bag on the small bench he has tucked by the front door and then bends down to undo his other boot. He doesn’t even bother setting them aside neatly as he steps further into his apartment and places the food on the counter.

He’s glad he has bought enough for two. Truthfully, he hadn’t been sure that he’d see the other Glaive at his place after work. He had actually expected the other man to make a swift retreat back to his own place considering how out of it he was and the way he usually keeps everyone at arm’s length. But apparently, he had been very wrong.

But maybe he shouldn’t be too surprised about Luche still being here. He had obviously fallen asleep while reading, the book still held loosely in his hand hanging from the couch. Six knows the man needs all the sleep he can get judging by how fast he had passed out last night so it’s only understandable, Nyx guesses.. For now, he’ll let him sleep a little longer. Just until he has their late lunch set up. He washes his hands in the kitchen sink and then busies himself with setting the table for the two of them as quietly as possible. 

It doesn’t take him more than a few minutes though so he throws caution to the wind and heads over to the slumbering blond. He really doesn’t want to wake Luche...but he also wants to make sure he eats. So he crouches down next to the couch intending to wake the other man but pauses, studying Luche’s features for a moment before he ruins this moment by waking him up.

He can’t help but to take in the fact that Luche’s features are so much softer in sleep. Or that he looks considerably younger. He looks strangely vulnerable and Nyx is reminded that he has been fighting in this war since he was a teenager. They both have. He dismisses the thought as quickly as it came and then fights the urge to card his fingers through Luche’s already messy blond locks.

He’d probably lose the hand if he did that.

Lips thinning, he refrains and calls himself to order before he places a hand gently on what he hopes is Luche’s shoulder. It’s hard to tell under the vaguely man-shaped mount of blankets and limbs.

“Wake-y, wake-y, Lazarus. I bet you’re pretty hungry right about now.”


End file.
